


Respite

by Miya_Morana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek Needs a Hug, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e08 Visionary, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:16:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miya_Morana/pseuds/Miya_Morana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his talk with Peter, Stiles finds Derek at the Nemeton and offers him what comfort he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morganoconner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/gifts).



> For the lovely Morgan, who needed some fluff, and for the hurt/comfort prompt of my [Trope Bingo card](http://miya-morana.livejournal.com/168700.html).

Derek’s eyes open as he gasps for breath, panicking. For a second, he doesn’t remember where he is. For a second, he can still feel the arms of his nightmare holding him up, can still feel his claws sinking into Boyd’s chest, Boyd’s energy seep out of him and into Derek.

It’s the smell that brings him fully to consciousness, that help him shake off the nightmare – _the memory_. The scent of earth and wood and nature wraps around him, and Derek lies back against the roots of the Nemeton’s tree. He caresses the smooth bark with one hand, fingers lingering on the knot painted on it. It hasn’t faded, hasn’t changed at all in all those years, even though the roots are larger and longer than they used to be.

He’s not sure what drove him back here. In light of the tragedy that happened between these roots, it shouldn’t feel like a safe place, shouldn’t feel like a sanctuary. Yet it still does. When he presses his cheek against the cold bark, he can feel a quiet hum of calmness seep into him. Not enough to make him forget. Never enough to make him forget. But just enough to keep down the hunger for power Boyd’s life energy had awoken.

Was that what Peter had felt after killing Laura? Was it what had driven him to roam the night and give the bite to the first teenager that crossed his path, to form a new pack by way of force and blood? Derek takes a deep breath, closes his eyes to try and focus on the sense of calm the Nemeton’s tree is giving him.

There’s a new scent mixed with that of the tree. It’s not intrusive or threatening, if anything it blends well with the musky smell of the basement, as if it had always been supposed to be there. Derek grits his teeth anyway, because he’s not ready to face anyone yet.

“Go away,” he groans, not bothering to open his eyes.

Of course, Stiles ignores him and actually comes closer. Derek opens his eyes to glare up at him. In the dimness of the Nemeton, Stiles’s lips stretch in a sad smile.

“Are you sure this is the best place for you to be right now?” he asks, voice quieter and softer than usually.

“It’s certainly not the best place for _you_ to be,” Derek snaps back. “I killed one of my own, the urge to do it again, it’s… Go away, Stiles.”

“I’m not a werewolf,” Stiles shrugs, sitting down in front of Derek. “Killing me wouldn’t give you any power. Do you feel an urge to kill me?”

“I _always_ feel an urge to kill you,” Derek replies, leaning back against the roots.

But Stiles is right, even if he is sort-of-maybe-kind-of part of his pack, Derek’s instincts are not pushing him to take Stiles down and steal his life’s power.

“How do you know about this place?” he asks instead with a sigh. He doesn’t have the energy to threaten him until he leaves. It wouldn’t work, anyway.

“Story time with uncle Peter,” Stiles says with a shrug, placing a hand on one of the longest roots stretching all the way towards him. “For some reason, I thought this place would be creepy, not… _serene_.”

Derek’s eyes follow Stiles’s fingers going back and forth on the root, like an appeasing caress. It’s almost as if the tree was humming its approval back against his own skin.

“I don’t want to think about Peter right now,” Derek says, and he’s almost as surprised as Stiles by how soft his own voice is.

“Okay,” Stiles says.

His fingers keep caressing the bark, and Derek stares at them in silence for several minutes. It’s almost hypnotizing, and he feels more at peace than he has since he got here.

“Why are you here Stiles?” he asks quietly after a little while.

Stiles’s hand freezes in place, and he takes a deep breath.

“I wanted to make sure…” he starts, then drifts off, taking his hand from the root to ball it up in his lap with his other one. Derek thinks he can feel the loss of contact somehow.

“To make sure I didn’t go all homicidal, is that it?” he completes Stiles’s sentence.

Stiles looks up in shock, locking eyes with Derek.

“No! Well, yes, the thought had crossed my mind, but I wanted to make sure you were alright. With everything that’s been going on, we _need_ you to be alright. Scott is doing everything he can, but he’s still comparatively new at this whole werewolf thing, and we can’t exactly count on _Peter_ to be any help unless it serves whatever ulterior motives he has, now, can we?” He takes a breath, then almost mumbles the next sentence: “Plus, I kind of care about your sorry werewolf ass, so I was worried about you.”

Derek stares at him. His senses are telling him Stiles isn’t lying. For some reason, Derek’s well-being matters to him. When did that happen, exactly? Because Derek clearly remembers how Stiles was ready to abandon him on the side of the road when he was shot by a wolfsbane bullet last year. Although he hadn’t, and he’d even come close to sawing Derek’s arm off to save his life.

He’s always thought Stiles merely tolerated him because him and Scott were linked. Maybe he’d misjudged him. Maybe Stiles sees him as an actual human being, with emotions and all, and not just a ‘sourwolf’ as he’d once called him.

Stiles sighs.

“I know there’s nothing I can do to make you feel better,” he says. “But I don’t think that hiding in the roots of a sacred tree, all alone, wallowing in your pain, can be any good for you.”

“There’s something you can do,” Derek says before he can stop himself.

Stiles blinks, surprise written all over his face. “There is?”

Derek swallows, but forces himself not to lower his eyes, not to look like the lost little child he currently feels like. He hasn’t asked for something like that in years, though if he’s honest with himself he’s craved it often. Stiles is a tactile person, Derek knows that, he’s seen him enough around his friends. He won’t mind. Derek hopes he won’t mind.

“Sometimes, physical contact can help ease emotional pain,” Derek says, voice steady. Because there’s no way he can just ask for a hug.

But Stiles gets it. Well, after a couple of second of staring bemusedly at Derek like he just grew a second head. He nods and slowly gets up on his knees and shuffles towards Derek. It’s a little bit awkward to find a good position between the roots, but Stiles eventually ends up kneeling next to him, arms wrapped around Derek as Derek presses his face against Stiles’s chest and wounds his arms around him too.

It feels…nice. Safe. Comforting. Stiles is breathing deliberately slowly, his chest heaving up and down, and after a while he rests his cheek on the top of Derek’s head. His scent, familiar, unthreatening and purely human, surrounds Derek, mixed in with the earthy scent of the Nemeton. It’s ironic, really, that he asks a teenager to provide him with the grounding he needs. A human teenage boy who’s been the bane of his existence, with his smart mouth and his inability to just do as he’s told.

The beast that had been growling in him, demanding more power and more blood, finally seems to quiet down. The accompanying grief surges up and Derek clamps down on what threatens to be tears, because he just refuses to cry in Stiles’s arms, thank you very much. But even that recedes after a little while. Stiles is gently rocking him, humming something that sounds strangely like a lullaby. He would complain, except he really doesn’t want him to stop.

So instead he just listens to Stiles’s heartbeat, calm and steady, and lets him hug away the pain and grief. It might not last for long, but Derek will take all the respite he can get.


End file.
